GIFT  OF 


SALLIE  WARD  YORK 

Died  October  14,  1907 

Funeral  Services 
Ravenswood  Methodist  Church 
Wednesday,   October  16,  1907 


U) 


ANY  sympathizing  and  loving  friends 
gathered  to  pay  their  last  silent  tribute 
of  love  and  esteem  for  their  departed 
friend. 

The    chancel    was    decorated    with 
beautiful  flowers  of  many  designs. 

As  the  funeral  procession  passed  up 
the  aisle,  the  pastor,  Rev.  R.  J.  Wyckoff,  read  the  fol- 
lowing 

Scripture 

I  am  the  resurrection,  and  the  life :  he  that  believ- 
eth  in  me,  though  he  were  dead,  yet  shall  he  live : 

And  whosoever  liveth  and  believeth  in  me  shall 
never  die. 

For  I  know  that  my  Redeemer  liveth,  and  that 
he  shall  stand  at  the  latter  day  upon  the  earth: 

And  though,  after  my  skin,  worms  destroy  this 
body,  yet  in  my  flesh  shall  I  see  God : 

Whom  I  shall  see  for  myself  and  mine  eyes  shall 
behold,  and  not  another. 

We  brought  nothing  into  this  world  and  it  is  cer- 
tain we  can  carry  nothing  out  of  it. 

The  Lord  giveth  and  the  Lord  taketh  away. 
Blessed  be  the  name  of  the  Lord. 

And  I  saw  a  new  heaven  and  a  new  earth:  for 
the  first  heaven  and  the  first  earth  were  passed  away; 
and  there  was  no  more  sea. 

And  I,  John,  saw  the  holy  city,  new  Jerusalem, 
coming  down  from  God,  out  of  heaven,  prepared  as  a 
bride  adorned  for  her  husband. 

And  I  heard  a  great  voice  out  of  heaven,  saying, 
Behold,  the  tabernacle  of  God  is  with  men,  and  He  will 
dwell  with  them,  and  they  shall  be  His  people,  and  God 
Himself  shall  be  with  them,  and  be  their  God. 

And  God  shall  wipe  away  all  tears  from  their 
eyes;  and  there  shall  be  no  more  death,  neither  sor- 


row',  nor  'crying;  'neither  shall  there  be  any  more  pain : 
for  the  former  things  are  passed  away. 

And  He  that  sat  upon  the  throne  said,  Behold,  I 
make  all  things  new.  And  He  said  unto  me,  Write ;  for 
these  words  are  true  and  faithful. 

And  He  said  unto  me,  It  is  done.  I  am  Alpha  and 
Omega,  the  beginning  and  the  end.  I  will  give  unto 
him  that  is  athirst  of  the  fountain  of  the  water  of  life 
freely. 

He  that  overcometh  shall  inherit  all  things ;  and  I 
will  be  his  God,  and  he  shall  be  my  son. 

The  quartet  consisting  of  Mrs.  Ella  G.  Carlson, 
Miss  Frances  Johnson,  Mr.  Ernest  O.  Todd,  and  Dr. 
H.  C.  Peisch,  then  sang: 

Some  Time  We  Shall  Know 

We  know  not  why  the  good  should  bend 

Beneath  affliction's  grievous   rod, 
While  yet  their  earnest  cries  ascend 

For  help  unto  a  faithful  God! 
We  know  some  time  relief  will  come, 

And  needful  grace  will  God  bestow; 
The  chast'ning  rod  will  bud  and  bloom 

Some  time — but  when,  we  cannot  know ! 

We  know  not  why  a  joyous  day 

Should  set  at  noon  in  starless  night — 
Why  somber  Death  should  bear  away 

Our  cherished  lov'd  ones  from  our  sight. 
Where  now  they  dwell,  in  regions  blest, 

While  we  their  absence  mourn  below, 
What  their  employ,  or  where  they  rest, 

Or  near  or  far,  we  may  not  know! 

But  this  we  know :  when  He  appears — 

The  Savior  of  our  fallen  race — 
With  eyes  no  longer  dimm'd  by  tears 

We  shall  behold  Him  face  to  face. 
Then  doubts  and  fears  will  flee  away 

Before  the  brightness  of  His  throne, 
And  night  give  place  to  endless  day, 

And  we  shall  know  as  we  are  known. 


The  Prayer 

Rev.  Stephen  J.  Herben,  Editor  "Epworth  Herald" 

GOD,  our  Father ;  We  are  in  the  presence 
of  a  great  sorrow.  We  are  confronted 
by  a  great  mystery.  We  do  not  under- 
stand. We  ask  why,  and  there  comes 
no  answer  that  wholly  satisfieth.  But 
Thou  art  the  God  of  Love;  and  Thou 
dost  know;  and  we  pray  Thee  that 
today  —  with  all  the  weight  of  this  sorrow  —  we 
may  have  some  word  from  Thee  that  will  scatter 
something  of  the  mystery  and  make  clear  unto  us,  in 
some  measure  at  least,  what  it  all  means.  Thou  art 
the  God  of  life,  Thou  hast  a  purpose  in  life,  Thou  hast 
made  us  according  to  Thy  image,  and  Thou  didst  im- 
plant within  us  high  aspirations.  We  are  the  crea- 
tures of  hope.  We  feel  that  these  days  are  not  all  the 
days  that  are  ours;  that  they  can  not  be;  that  God 
made  us  for  some  better  purpose  than  to  live  here  for 
a  few  fleeting  days  that  are  full  of  sorrow.  O,  God, 
unfold  to  us  today  the  mystery  of  life  and  then  it  will 
be  easier  for  us  to  bear  some  things. 

We  thank  Thee  that  we  are  not  as  those  who  have 
no  hope.  We  come  to  such  a  sacred,  sublime  service 
as  this  with  hope  blooming  and  bearing  fruitage  in 
onr  hearts.  We  have  hope  and  this  is  what  gives  pur- 
pose to  life;  and  keeps  the  fires  of  ambition  going,  and 
causes  us  to  look  with  unblanched  faces  into  the  future 
that  to  some  seems  so  dark,  but  to  us,  who  believe  in 
Thee,  and  in  Jesus  Christ,  is  so  full  of  glory  ineffable. 
We  thank  Thee  for  this  hope  that  we  have,  that  has 
given  strength  to  us  to  endure  in  these  days  and  make 
us  brave  to  look  forward  to  the  days  that  are  yet  to 
come.  We  would  not  surrender  this  hope,  it  is  the 
anchor  of  our  faith,  it  is  the  thing  that  saves  us  when 
distress  comes.  O,  God,  enlarge  and  deepen  and 


broaden  and  sweeten  and  enrich  this  hope  in  our 
hearts  in  this  hour  of  our  sorrow. 

May  this  be  a  moment  of  pride  for  us  all  even  in 
the  presence  of  that  awful  thing  we  call  Death.  We 
all  sorrow  now,  but  there  are  those  to  whom  the  load 
has  come  in  almost  crushing  weight,  and  even  with 
suddenness.  The  days  of  a  year  have  passed  away 
since  last  this  dear  one  ceased  to  walk  among  the  peo- 
ple of  this  church.  Bless  those  upon  whom  the  blow 
has  fallen  with  greatest  severity,  O  God,  and  give  unto 
those  who  walk  among  us  yet  strength  to  bear  the  days 
of  mourning,  for  the  days  will  not  be  many  before  we 
too  will  go  hence  and  be  no  more. 

We  thank  Thee  for  her  life  filled,  as  it  was,  with 
gentle  care  and  sweet  ministry.  Only  those  who  came 
near  to  her  know  how  rich  that  life  was  of  the  things 
that  make  for  character,  for  righteousness,  for  blessed- 
ness and  for  life.  Grant,  O  God,  that  though  no  longer 
here,  that  spirit  may  abide,  and  that  the  things  that 
have  come  out  of  her  life,  gracious,  tender,  sacred  and 
sweet,  may  continue  to  abide  among  these  people  and 
bless  them  in  the  days  that  are  yet  to  be.  Give  courage 
of  heart,  and  hope,  and  joy,  and  life,  and  light  unto 
him  who  loved  her  so  much  and  whose  heart  is  now 
heavy  with  sorrow. 

Some  of  us  are  thinking  even  now  of  other  days 
of  sadness,  and  of  other  dear  ones,  and  the  gates  of 
memory  swing  open  and  the  flood  comes  upon  our 
souls  as  we  think  of  those  days,  and  of  the  loved  ones 
who  have  been  taken  away ;  as  we  think  of  these  things 
may  the  memory  be  sweet  unto  our  souls  and  may  it 
strengthen  our  spirit,  and  may  we  go  forth  from  this 
holy  place  into  the  world  again,  better  men,  better 
women,  better  children,  for  meeting  here  this  after- 
noon and  for  having  meditated  upon  the  life  and  the 
character  and  the  services  of  this  one  who  has  passed 
beyond  the  portals  into  the  everlasting  habitations. 
Amen. 


-The  Christian's  Good  Night" 

Sang  by  Mrs.  Ella  G.  Carlson 

Sleep  on,  beloved,  sleep,  and  take  thy  rest; 
Lay  down  thy  head  upon  thy  Savior's  breast ; 
We  love  thee  well,  but  Jesus  loves  thee  best — 
Good  night !   Good  night !  Good  night ! 

Calm  is  thy  slumber,  as  an  infant's  sleep; 
But  thou  shalt  wake,  no  more  to  toil  and  weep ; 
Thine  is  a  perfect  rest,  secure,  and  deep — 
Good  night !   Good  night !   Good  night ! 

Only  "good  night,"  beloved — not  "farewell;" 
A  little  while  and  all  his  saints  shall  dwell 
In  hallowed  union,  Indivisible — 

Good  night !  Good  night !   Good  night ! 

Until  we  meet  again  before  His  throne, 
Clothed  in  the  spotless  robe  He  gives  His  own, 
Until  we  know,  even  as  we  are  known — 
Good  night !  Good  night !   Good  night ! 


The  Sermon 

Rev.  Dan  B.  Brnmmitt,  Assistant  Editor  "Epworth  Herald" 
by  Bequest  of  Mrs.  York 

HERE  came  a  day,  which  was  the  last 
day  that  she  was  fully  conscious,  after 
a  long  year  of  struggle.  In  the  last 
day,  while  our  sister's  mind  was  yet 
clear  and  keen  and  unhurt  of  all  the 
illness  that  had  come,  she  began  to  speak 
this  Scripture — "The  Lord  is  my  Shep- 
herd, I  shall  not  want" — and  so  through  the  Psalm, 
which  we  have  all  said,  and  which  we  have  all  known, 
until  she  came  to  the  words — "Yea,  though  I  walk 
through  the  valley  of  the  shadow  of  death,  I  will  fear 
no  evil" — thus  far,  and  then  she  stopped,  and  there 
was  no  ending,  and  there  was  no  ending  to  the  Psalm 
as  she  spoke — "Yea,  though  I  walk  through  the  val- 
ley of  the  shadow  of  death,  I  will  fear  no  evil." 

I  am  not  afraid  to  speak  praise ;  I  am  not  ashamed 
to  speak  praise  of  one  we  have  all  loved.  There  are 
some  who  urge  us, — "say  it  first."  Very  well,  but  say 
it  last,  also;  and  so  I  shall  say  some  things  this  after- 
noon about  Sister  York,  because  it  is  proper  that  they 
should  be  said,  and  I  think  it  is  worth  while  for  us  to 
remember  this  afternoon  that  we  have  come  to  do 
honor  to  the  memory  of  a  fearless  spirit — "I  will  fear 
no  evil."  That  might  well  be  the  word  written  on  the 
monument  which  will  mark  her  grave — "I  will  fear  no 
evil." 

Nearly  all  who  are  here  this  afternoon  knew  her 
in  strength  and  health,  and  you  all  know  how  keen  and 
straightforward  and  single-minded  she  was.  We  al- 
ways knew  where  she  stood,  and  why  she  stood  there. 
She  had  positive  convictions.  She  felt  them  to  the  cen- 
ter of  her  life,  and  she  held  to  them  with  unshakeable 
tenacity  because  to  her  they  were  beyond  all  question 
real,  and  she  insisted  upon  reality.  And  she  was  not 


afraid.  This  disease  came,  and  we  have  watched,  at 
further  or  nearer  distances,  the  battle  she  has  made  for 
a  year.  But  disease  and  the  threat  of  death  did  not 
make  a  coward  out  of  this  woman,  who  had  been  brave 
through  all  her  life.  It  only  changed  the  method  of 
her  courage,  not  the  quality  of  it.  She  had  faced  other 
evils  before  and  had  not  been  afraid ;  and  as  you  know, 
many  of  you  as  well  as  I,  she  faced  this  last  evil  and 
was  not  afraid. 

There  are  two  things  that  I  think  it  is  needful  to 
say — not  that  any  one  doubts  them,  but  we  need  to 
be  reminded  of  them — concerning  Sister  York's  atti- 
tude during  this  year  that  we  have  had  opportunity  to 
observe  her  and  see  how  brave  a  fight  she  made.  It  is 
not  often  that  the  thing  is  wrought  out  before  our 
eyes  as  it  was  in  her  case;  and  I  count  it  one  of  the 
gifts  of  the  grace  of  God  that  so  many  people  have 
been  able  to  see  a  soul  standing  and  fronting  the  great 
mystery  and  the  great  dread  and  the  great  darkness 
that  death  is,  and  fronting  it  unterrified. 

One  of  the  things  that  I  think  you  have  all  seen 
is,  that  she  did  not  make  any  compromise  with  weak- 
ness or  with  disease.  We  think  we  may  be  excused 
when  we  are  forced  into  a  sick  room,  if  we  drop  all 
interest  in  the  things  of  the  work-a-day,  active,  vigor- 
ous world.  But  she  did  not  ask  for  such  an  excuse. 
She  asked  for  no  discharge  from  the  war  because  she 
was  shut  up  in  the  four  walls  of  a  room  of  pain  and 
suffering.  There  was  not  any  despair,  no  slackening 
of  interest  and  no  loss  of  zest,  and,  strange  enough, 
no  clouding  of  the  judgment  and  no  changing  of  con- 
victions. The  mind  did  not  withdraw  in  upon  itself. 
We  know  and  have  seen  week  by  week  and  month  by 
month  how  from  that  sick  room  there  have  gone  out 
lines  of  influence  and  of  helpfulness  and  of  courage 
far  beyond  any  possible  reach  of  her  physical  power. 
Wesley  Hospital  has  felt  it,  the  Orphanage  at  Lake 


Bluff  has  felt  it,  and  this  church  has  felt  it  during  all 
this  year.  We  have  not  always  been  able  to  define  it, 
but  we  have  known  somehow  that  we  were  all  stronger 
because  of  the  fight  that  was  being  made  in  that  sick 
room. 

The  other  thing  is  this,  that  she  did  not  surrender 
to  the  inevitable.  It  was  inevitable,  but  she  did  not 
surrender  to  it;  she  did  not  admit  defeat.  After  the 
first  few  months  death  was  sure  to  come  and  the  con- 
viction of  that  fact  grew  strong  upon  her.  She  did 
not  always  admit  it,  but  the  conviction  gained  strength 
in  her  mind  that  she  was  fighting  a  losing  battle.  But 
she  faced  it  and  she  did  not  flinch,  and  there  was  no 
surrender  to  the  enemy,  Death.  There  was  something 
much  greater  and  much  more  wonderful — there  was 
confidence  in  a  Friend.  As  her  physician  talked  to  us 
the  other  night  he  said,  "This  was  the  great  thing  that 
impressed  me  all  through  the  weeks  and  months,  that 
she  was  absolutely  sure  that  God  was  good  to  her  and 
that  God  was  gracious  to  her,  and  that  all  this  deal- 
ing had  in  it  some  reflection  of  the  love  of  God."  And 
the  physician  said  this,  also,  "She  had  exhausted  all 
her  vitality,  she  had  exhausted  all  her  powers,  she  had 
exhausted  all  things  else  long  ago,  and  when  accord- 
ing to  all  the  gifts  and  the  knowledge  and  the  skill 
of  her  physicians  she  ought  not  to  have  lived,  the  one 
thing  that  kept  her  alive  was  that  she  was  in  God's 
hands,  and  there  was  no  struggle,  no  complaint,  no 
murmuring,  no  repining." 

But  the  outcome  was  the  same,  you  say?  She 
died.  No,  it  was  not  the  same.  The  same  thing  hap- 
pens to  all,  but  it  does  not  mean  the  same.  She  was 
not  overborne  by  the  power  of  death,  but  she  was 
quieted  and  made  peaceful  submission  to  this  mystery 
of  God's  love,  which  no  man  can  quite  understand, 
though  we  all  need  it,  and  should  be  helpless  and  filled 
with  darkness  and  despair  without  it.  She  trusted 


God.    She  believed  in  God,  and  she  rested  upon  Him. 

Now,  since  why  she  did  that,  she  was  fearless. 
She  had  this  courage,  a  strength  of  a  soldier  in  a  for- 
lorn hope.  Be  sure  of  this,  that  it  was  not  because  she 
could  not  see  evil.  There  are  some  who  say — not  some 
of  us,  let  us  hope — but  some  people  who  say — "There 
is  no  evil."  He  who  says  that  has  laid  down  his 
weapons.  He  can  fight  no  battle  against  evil;  he  is 
groping  in  midnight  while  he  says  there  is  no  dark- 
ness, but  soon  he  stumbles,  because  the  darkness  which 
he  denies  has  led  him  astray.  No,  she  knew  that  evil 
was,  but  she  had  faith  in  God  that  He  was  greater 
than  evil,  and  that  He  would  conquer  it  and  make  good 
out  of  it. 

In  all  her  life  when  evil  threatened  she  faced  it. 
She  faced  it  though  she  knew  that  it  was  greater  than 
she,  but  she  did  not  flinch.  We  know  how  all  her  life 
long  she  counted  herself  an  unrelenting  enemy  of  the 
traffic  in  strong  drink.  Did  she  make  any  impress  by 
her  courage  and  her  opposition,  upon  the  business  in 
this  city?  I  don't  know,  perhaps  some,  but  not  much. 
Not  any  of  us  can  do  much.  Yet  she  did  not  yield ;  she 
did  not  say,  The  thing  is  here,  I  can't  help  it,  and  I  will 
lay  down  my  opposition  in  the  face  of  it.  Not  in  any 
such  case  did  she  yield,  because  she  was  able  to  face  it 
in  the  strength  and  by  the  help  of  God. 

When  God's  hand  was  heavy  upon  her  she  did  not 
say  that  it  was  evil,  but  she  felt  that  the  very  pressure 
and  power  of  the  hand  of  God — what  seemed  to  be  an 
affliction — was  really  a  protection  and,  of  course,  a 
goodness.  So  she  had  comfort  all  through  that  long  so- 
journ in  the  valley  and  the  shadow  of  death.  All  was 
the  doing  of  God,  and  how  could  it  be  evil  ? 

But  now  she  is  dead.  No,  all  her  life  gives  the  lie 
to  that  belief.  She  is  not  dead.  She  lives.  Her  body 
is  dead,  and  just  now  in  this  moment  of  sorrowful 
grief  it  matters  much  that  she  is  gone  out  from  our 


presence,  and  that  she  does  not  answer  when  we  call, 
and  that  the  cheer  and  the  vivacity  and  the  eagerness 
which  was  a  part  of  her  life  we  can  not  find  any  longer. 
But  she  is  not  dead.  Her  body  was  a  long  time  dying, 
but  when  it  was  weakest  she  was  strongest,  and  as  full 
of  life  as  ever.  Her  supply  of  spiritual  vitality  was 
never  interrupted  until  the  very  last,  and  it  is  not  ex- 
hausted now  though  her  body  is  still,  but  it  is  enriched, 
enlarged  and  perfected. 

And  so  this  is  the  message  she  brings  to  us,  silent 
though  she  is,  quiet  though  the  body  is,  which  is  not 
hers,  but  was  hers — is  not  this  the  message  she  brings 
to  him  whose  heart  is  broken,  this  fearlessness  of  soul, 
this  charge  to  be  brave,  to  know  that  it  is  not  a  losing 
battle,  though  it  may  seem  to  be — but  that  God  is  on 
the  side  of  those  who  can  say — "Yea,  though  I  walk 
through  the  valley  of  the  shadow  of  death  I  will  fear 
no  evil?"  Not  dry-eyed  stoicism,  asking  that  we  shall 
say,  "Well,  I  will  not  cry,  I  will  not  moan,  I  will  not 
sorrow."  And  not  wooden  indifference,  not  the  mere 
repeating  of  the  truism  that  we  must  all  go  the  way  of 
all  the  earth,  and  that  we  must  accept  the  fact  of  death 
as  a  hard  but  unshakeable  thing.  Not  that,  but  the 
trust  that  somehow  in  all  the  dealing  of  God  with  us 
this  fact  of  death  has  in  it  great  grace  and  great  power 
of  life.  Of  course,  it  is  harder  for  a  Christian  to  lose 
his  loved  ones  than  it  is  for  others.  We  say,  and  we 
say  truly,  that  we  sorrow  not  as  those  who  have  no 
hope,  and  we  see  sorrow  has  in  it  elements  of  power 
and  elements  of  joy.  And  yet  it  is  harder.  Jesus 
Christ,  who  has  come  into  our  lives,  has  strengthened 
and  hallowed  our  relationships  that  they  are  stronger 
and  holier  than  any  can  be  that  are  not  blessed  by  His 
presence;  it  is  harder  for  us  to  lose  those  whom  we 
love.  Comradeship  in  character  is  most  precious,  and 
when  we  lose  it,  it  measures  more  grief,  and  it  is  not 
wise  for  any  of  us  to  say  today  that  this  is  a  light 


affliction.  It  is  a  very  heavy  sorrow,  and  hard,  and  yet 
I  think  she  speaks  to  us  out  of  her  last  conscious  mo- 
ments— "I  will  fear  no  evil,  I  will  fear  no  evil." 

How  foolish  we  are  if  these  things  are  not  so,  for 
tweny-one  years  ago  all  this  hard  sorrow  and  bitter 
loss,  this  mourning,  was  invited  when  the  relationship 
was  begun  which  death  has  now  interrupted — not 
broken.  This  home  was  set  up,  and  therefore  these 
two,  this  husband  who  remains  and  this  wife  who  has 
gone  into  the  unseen  but  not  unknown  land,  have  all 
these  years  enriched  and  strengthened  each  other's  lives. 
Have  we  not  all  seen  it,  and  have  we  not  all  believed 
that  it  is  beautiful,  and  that  it  should  be  so  ?  Is  it  not 
so  in  every  life  that  is  enriched  and  helped  by  another 
life  that  lives  beside  it?  Until  it  came  to  be  at  last 
that  they  thought  alike,  and  felt  alike,  and  spoke  alike, 
And  today  it  is  not  all  over.  There  is  a  tomorrow,  but 
even  up  to  this  moment  all  the  sorrow  and  all  the  sense 
of  loss  and  the  loneliness  that  are  here,  are  not  so 
great  as  the  joy,  the  exultation,  the  gratitude  to  God 
that  these  years  have  been  lived,  and  that  this  love  has 
been  held  a  holy  and  a  precious  thing.  Shall  we  not 
say,  even  in  the  presence  of  death,  that  it  is  great  and 
worthy  and  beautiful  to  have  had  this  life  together? 
We  must  go,  we  must  separate,  we  must  live  a  little 
time  apart,  but  it  is  worth  while  to  have  lived  and 
loved,  and  there  is  the  uncounted  remainder  of  the  life 
that  knows  no  shadow  and  knows  no  sorrow  and  knows 
no  loss.  The  end  of  it  all,  we  know,  was  not  comfort, 
but  character.  Her  character  is  perfected  now  in  the 
presence  of  God,  and  the  character  of  him  whom  she 
loved  and  blessed  so  long  will  always  be  richer  and 
more  beautiful  through  all  the  years  of  the  time  it  is 
to  come  because  she  lived  these  years  by  his  side. 

And  is  it  not  true,  do  we  not  always  feel  it  so 
when  death  comes  near,  that  death  has  a  new  meaning 
now  since  she  went  home  ?  Somebody  said  once,  "The 


dead  open  the  eyes  of  the  living;"  and  it  is  true  there 
are  things  we  can  see  this  afternoon  that  we  have  never 
seen  before,  and  the  clearness  of  vision  is  in  a  measure 
because  of  the  burden  of  our  souls.  They  who  sorrow 
most  see  most,  and  death  means  something  other  than 
it  used  to  mean.  It  seems  hard  to  die,  but  Sister  York 
has  shown  us  how  easy  it  is  to  die.  After  all,  those 
who  have  loved  her  most  and  have  seen  her  as  she 
walked  down  the  path  into  the  valley  of  darkness,  the 
valley  of  the  shadow  of  death,  now  have  this  great 
comfort,  that  this  valley  of  the  shadow  is  no  such  place 
of  terror  and  of  awfulness  as  it  seemed  to  be,  as  it  was 
until  yesterday.  For  she  has  gone  that  way,  and  she 
has  gone  triumphantly,  as  she  had  said,  "I  will  fear  no 
evil."  And  her  confidence  and  her  faith  are  justified  in 
the  event. 

Sister  York  in  her  weakness  and  in  the  last  mo- 
ments of  the  reaching  out  of  her  mind  for  God  said,' 
the  other  day,  "Yea,  though  I  walk  through  the  valley 
of  the  shadow  of  death  I  will  fear  no  evil ;"  and  then 
she  stopped,  though  not  because  she  did  not  know  the 
rest.  Today  we  can  finish  it  out — "I  will  fear  no  evil, 
for  Thou  art  with  me,  Thy  rod  and  Thy  staff  they 
comfort  me.  Thou  preparest  a  table  before  me  in  the 
presence  of  mine  enemies;  Thou  anointest  my  head 
with  oil,  my  cup  runneth  over."  Is  it  not  a  triumphant 
faith  ?  And  yet  is  it  not  the  thing  that  every  one  of  us — 
especially  our  dear  Brother  York,  whose  heart  aches 
with  an  aching  that  cannot  be  forgotten  for  a  moment — 
can  say,  because  we  have  learned  these  things  truly  in 
the  presence  of  death,  because  in  the  presence  of  life 
which  is  greater  than  death — "  Truly  goodness  and 
mercy  shall  follow  me  all  the  days  of  my  life?"  How 
different  will  it  be  for  us  every  one  if  we  can  go  from 
this  presence  of  death  carrying  the  lesson  with  a  new 
emphasis,  a  new  meaning,  and  a  new  purpose  to  be 
fearless  and  brave  as  she  was,  so  that  at  the  last  we 


may  realize  the  glory  and  the  joy  that  ends  the  Psalm 
which  was  Sister  York's  last  talk  about  the  God  she 
loved  and  trusted — "And  I  will  dwell  in  the  house  of 
the  Lord  forever."  Amen. 


"Saved  By  Grace" 

by  Quartette 

Some  day  the  silver  cord  will  break, 
And  I  no  more  as  now  shall  sing; 

But,  oh,  the  joy  when  I  shall  wake 
Within  the  palace  of  the  King! 

CHORUS. 
And  I  shall  see  Him  face  to  face, 

And  tell  the  story — Saved  by  grace; 
And  I  shall  see  Him  face  to  face, 

And  tell  the  story — Saved  by  grace. 

Some  day  my  earthly  house  will  fall, 
I  can  not  tell  how  soon  'twill  be, 

But  this  I  know — my  All  in  All 

Has  now  a  place  in  Heav'n  for  me. 

Some  day,  when  fades  the  golden  sun 
Beneath  the  rosy  tinted  west, 

Aiy  blessed  Lord  shall  say,  "Well  done !" 
And  I  shall  enter  into  rest. 

Some  day,  till  then  I'll  watch  and  wait, 
My  lamp  all  trimm'd  and  burning  bright, 

That  when  my  Savior  ope's  the  gate, 
My  soul  to  Him  may  take  its  flight. 


Mrs.  York's  pastor,  the  Rev.  Dr.  Wyckoff,  then  read, 
besides  a  few  biographical  notes,  the  following  beauti- 
ful poem,  which  had  been  sent  to  Mr.  York  by  a  very 
dear  friend: 

She  Will  Sleep  Tonight 

Smooth  the  braids  of  her  silken  hair 

On  her  queenly  brow  with  tender  care : 

Gather  the  robe  in  a  final  fold 

Around  her  form  that  will  not  grow  old : 

Lay  on  her  bosom,  pure  as  snow, 

The  fairest,  sweetest  flowers  that  grow. 

Kiss  her  and  leave  her — your  heart's  delight — 

In  dreamless  peace  she  will  sleep  to-night. 

A  shadowy  gleam  of  life-light  lies 

Around  the  lids  of  her  slumbering  eyes, 

And  her  lips  are  closed  in  fond  delay 

Of  the  loving  words  she  had  to  say; 

But  her  gentle  heart  forgot  to  beat, 

And  from  her  dainty  hands  to  her  dainty  feet 

She  is  strangely  quiet,  cold  and  white ; 

The  fever  is  gone;  she  will  sleep  to-night 

Put  by  her  work  and  her  empty  chair ; 
Fold  up  the  garments  she  used  to  wear; 
Let  down  the  curtains  and  close  the  door — 
She  will  need  the  garish  light  no  more. 
For  the  work  assigned  her  under  the  sun 
Is  finished  now,  and  the  guerdon  won. 
Fondly  kiss  her;  put  out  the  light, 
And  leave  her  alone — she  will  sleep  to-night. 

Oh,  blessed  sleep  that  will  not  break 

For  tears  nor  prayers,  nor  love's  sweet  sake ! 

Oh,  perfect  rest — that  knows  no  pain, 

No  throb  nor  thrill  of  heart  or  brain ! 

Oh,  life  sublime  beyond  all  reach, 

That  only  the  pure  through  dying  reach ! 

God  understands,  and  His  ways  are  right; 

Bid  his  beloved  a  long  good-night. 


Weep  for  the  days  that  will  come  no  more, 
For  the  sunbeam  that  flows  from  hearth  to  door ; 
For  a  missing  step,  for  a  nameless  grace 
Of  a  tender  voice  and  a  loving  face : 
But  not  for  the  soul  whose  goal  is  won, 
Whose  infinite  joy  is  just  begun : 
Not  for  the  spirit  enrobed  in  light 
And  crowned  where  the  angels  are  to-night. 

—Selected. 


In    Memoriam 

By  Rev.  R.  J.  Wyckoff  (Mrs.  York's  Pastor) 
Sunday,  October  20, 1907 

T  is  fitting  that  this  evening  service  take 
some  recognition  of  the  recent  death  of 
Mrs.  George  W.  York.  The  choir  is  just 
about  to  sing,  "God  Shall  Wipe  Away 
All  Tears."  If  this  memorial  anthem  is 
an  expression  of  our  wish,  may  it  also 
be  a  source  of  comfort  to  him  whose 
heart,  at  this  moment,  is  wrung  with  exquisite  grief. 
One  of  the  things  most  difficult  for  a  clergyman 
to  do,  when  he  leaves  a  place,  is  to  break  the  friend- 
ships he  has  made  during  his  pastorate ;  but  one  of  the 
losses  he  suffers,  in  a  new  place,  is  the  knowledge  of 
the  character  and  life  of  noble  men  and  women  who 
lay  down  their  work  before  he  can  gain  a  knowledge 
of  their  life  and  worth.  I  have  recently  felt  the  sacri- 
fice and  the  loss. 

I  have  been  among  you  but  one  year.  Scarcely  a 
week  after  my  arrival  the  doctors  decreed  that  Mrs. 
York  must  lay  down  her  work,  give  up  all  her  church 
activities,  lay  aside  the  many  things  her  hands  had 
planned  for  the  new  year,  and  go  to  her  room.  The 
mandate  came  to  us  all  with  great  surprise  and  a  shock. 
It  was  difficult  for  me  to  believe  that  the  bright,  smiling 
woman,  who  a  few  days  before  had  greeted  me  in  her 
home,  was  a  stricken  woman. 

She  obeyed  the  doctor  implicitly.  Mrs.  York  had 
learned  obedience.  Long  years  before  she  had  an- 
swered the  call  to  service.  It  required  the  calm  self- 
surrender  to  the  high  demands  of  God.  The  high 
ideals  of  a  Christian  life  are  not  reached  by  any  self- 
surrender.  It  is  not  achieved  by  a  divided  heart. 

Mrs.  York  had  submitted  to  God,  and  she  with 
the  same  sweet  resignation  gave  herself  up  to  the  die- 


tales  of  those  in  whom  she  believed.  To  me  her  per- 
fect abandonment  of  the  world,  and  her  self-devotion 
to  the  claims  of  her  church,  were  her  leading  char- 
acteristics. Her  surrender  to  God  did  not  mean  for 
her  a  retreat  from  the  many  calls  of  a  needy  world. 

She  had  the  spirit  of  a  philanthropist,  and  the 
rare  devotion  of  a  deaconess.  Like  Dorcas,  her  hands 
were  always  busy.  Her  heart  was  tender  toward  the 
homeless  and  friendless  children  of  this  great  city,  and 
Heaven  only  knows  all  she  did.  Wesley  Hospital  and 
its  needs  had  a  large  place  in  her  heart.  In  her  sick- 
room her  busy  brain  and  heart  went  on  working. 

Though  filled  with  apprehension  about  the  future 
she  never  lost  her  interest  in  the  present.  Throughout 
the  most  of  the  year  she  raised  money  enough  to  fur- 
nish a  room  in  the  home  for  the  nurses,  and  died  but 
too  soon  to  know  that  the  room  was  to  be  named  her 
own.  In  the  sick-room  she  was  bright,  sunny  and 
hopeful.  In  the  year  that  I  knew  her  I  do  not  remem- 
ber a  time  that  she  ever  gave  gave  away  to  grief  or 
despair.  Her  hope  was  never  crushed.  She  always 
greeted  me  with  a  smile,  and  was  thankful  for  the  joy 
of  living. 

There  was  about  her  the  evidence  of  a  strong  and 
inflexible  will,  a  fearless  and  aggressive  mind,  tena- 
cious of  her  views,  and  uncompromising  in  her  opin- 
ions when  she  felt  that  her  opinions  had  some  vital 
relation  to  character  and  truth. 

One  thing  never  left  her — her  hope  of  getting  well 
often  hung  in  the  balance — but  her  clear  faith  was 
never  obscured.  At  times  she  hardly  knew  what  to 
see  among  the  half -veiled  opinions  of  her  kind  physi- 
cians, who  wished  to  spare  her  a  full  knowledge  of  her 
disease;  but  she  always  saw  the  way  clear  to  her 
Father's  House. 

Her  faith  never  saw  an  eclipse.  It  was  bright, 
and  had  the  upward  bend.  As  the  distance  became 


shorter  the  path  became  brighter,  and  when  the  day 
came  for  her  to  "cross  the  bar"  her  Pilot  was  there, 
and  the  "clear  call"  found  her  answer. 

Her  Life 

The  death  of  Sallie  Ward  York,  wife  of  George 
W.  York,  occurred  at  the  home,  2611  N.  Ashland  Ave., 
Chicago,  111.,  Monday,  October  14,  1907,  at  6:45  P-  m- 
The  funeral  services  were  held  at  the  Ravens- 
wood  Methodist  Church,  Wednesday  afternoon,  under 
the  direction  of  R.  J.  Wyckoff,  assisted  by  Revs.  Dan 
Brummitt  and  S.  J.  Herben.  Dr.  Brummitt  preached 
the  funeral  sermon  in  compliance  with  the  request  of 
the  decedent.  A  quartet  composed  of  Mr.  Ernest  O. 
Todd,  Mrs.  E.  G.  Carlson,  Miss  Frances  Johnson,  and 
Dr.  H.  C.  Peisch,  furnished  the  music  for  the  occa- 
sion. The  numerous  floral  pieces  and  largely  attended 
services  partly  evidenced  the  high  esteem  in  which  Mrs. 
York  was  held.  Every  department  of  the  church  was 
represented  in  the  flower  offerings.  A  large  clock  with 
hands  fixed  at  the  hour  of  death  (6:45)  was  tne  offer- 
ing of  the  Official  Board.  Rose  Hill  was  the  place  of 
interment. 

The  decedent  was  born  near  Harvard,  111.,  and  in 
1875  moved  to  Wilmette,  with  her  parents.  On  Sep- 
tember 22,  1886,  she  was  married  to  George  W.  York, 
and  to  them  were  born  two  daughters,  both  of  which 
died  in  infancy.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  York  moved  to  the 
west  side  of  Chicago  shortly  after  their  marriage,  and 
were  both  active  workers  in  the  Park  Avenue  M.  E. 
Church,  where  Mrs.  York  was  the  soprano  soloist.  A 
change  of  residence  was  then  made  and  the  Western 
Avenue  Church  became  their  church  home,  and  here 
Mrs.  York  gave  liberally  of  her  splendid  musical  abil- 
ity for  the  benefit  of  others.  She  had  a  full,  rich 
soprano  voice  which  had  been  trained  to  the  nicest 


perfection  under  the  tutelage  of  the  best  masters  of 
music  in  Chicago. 

In  1893,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  York  moved  to  Ravens- 
wood,  and  it  is  here  that  the  loss  of  Mrs.  York  is  most 
deeply  mourned.  No  hand  was  more  ready  in  giving, 
no  voice  more  earnest  in  pleading  for  the  poor  and 
unfortunate,  and  no  feet  have  been  more  willing  to  run 
upon  errands  of  mercy  and  help.  Her  life  typified  the 
very  highest  ideals  of  Christian  living.  During  a  year 
of  terrible  suffering  no  murmur  of  complaint  escaped 
her  lips,  and  in  the  last  moments  of  flickering  life,  the 
beautiful  transforming  power  of  a  mighty  faith  made 
her  death  a  glorious  triumph. 

Mrs.  York  was  an  officer  of  several  societies  at 
the  time  she  was  taken  sick,  and  was  especially  inter- 
ested in  the  Lake  Bluff  Orphanage,  Deaconess'  Home, 
and  Wesley  Hospital.  During  her  last  illness  Mrs. 
York  was  the  means  of  raising  $118  for  furnishing  a 
room  in  the  Harris  Home  for  Nurses,  used  in  con- 
nection with  Wesley  Hospital,  and  this  room  has  re- 
cently been  designated  as  the  "Sallie  York  Memorial." 

During  the  year  of  her  sickness  a  record  was  kept 
of  the  number  of  calls  made  at  her  home,  either  to  see 
Mrs.  York  or  to  enquire  as  to  her  condition,  and  the 
figures  offer  additional  evidence  as  to  her  popularity. 
The  total  was  over  1,800.  Gifts  of  flowers  were 
brought  200  times.  Mrs.  York,  with  all  her  activities, 
was  an  ideal  housekeeper.  She  loved  her  home,  and  in 
the  twenty-one  years  of  married  life  not  a  ripple  of  dis- 
agreement disturbed  the  calm  serenity  of  a  joyful 
Christian  companionship  which  has  been  a  delight  and 
blessing  to  every  one  who  came  within  her  influence. 

—Ravenswood  Citizen,    October  19,  1907. 


From  a  Friend 

Dr.  O.  O.  Miller,  of  Marengo,  111., 
a  beloved  friend  of  both  Mr.  and  Mrs.  York 

ACK  of  every  man  who  has  done  anything 
worth  while  for  the  public  will  generally 
be  found  a  true  woman,  who,  as  his  help- 
meet, has  stood  by  him  through  thick  and 
thin,  helping  him  over  the  hard  places, 
and  always  cheering  him  on  to  better 
effort.  She  may  not  be  known  to  the 
public,  but  quietly  and  unostentatiously  her  influence  is 
constantly  exerted,  and  many  a  man  has  been  glad  to 
acknowledge  that  for  his  success  in  life  he  was  chiefly 
indebted  to  his  wife. 

Such  a  woman  was  Mrs.  George  W.  York,  who 
was  carried  to  her  last  resting  place,  October  i6th.  It 
was  my  privilege  to  know  her  better  than  most  of  the 
members  of  the  American  Bee  Journal  family,  and  so 
it  is  but  right  that  I  should  tell  them  a  little  about  the 
one  who  for  so  many  years  was  so  strong  a  factor  in 
making  the  Journal  what  it  has  been,  and  is. 

As  already  intimated,  her  influence  upon  the  paper 
was  indirect,  but  not  entirely  so.  On  mailing  days  she 
came  to  the  office  for  many  a  year  and  put  her  hand 
directly  to  the  work  so  that  the  mailing  would  be  on 
time;  and  thus  more  than  once  it  was  through  her 
help  that  the  American  Bee  Journal  was  able  to  main- 
tain its  right  to  be  called  "The  Old  Reliable." 

Perhaps  the  most  prominent  characteristic  in  Mrs. 
York's  personality  was  her  unflinching  devotion  to  her 
ideals  of  what  she  believed  to  be  right  and  true,  and  her 
outspoken  advocacy  of  them,  even  to  the  point  of 
brusqueness,  whatever  consequences  might  follow. 
The  minister  who  so  feelingly  spoke  the  last  words 
over  the  body  which  lay  in  the  church,  embowered  in 
beautiful  flowers  from  so  many  sources,  said,  "  We 


come  to  do  honor  to  the  memory  of  a  fearless  spirit." 
The  words  were  well  spoken.  Hers  was  a  spirit  of 
fearlessness  wherever  there  was  any  question  of  right 
to  be  done,  or  wrong  to  be  overcome. 

The  Methodist  Church  of  Ravenswood  (Chicago) 
is  a  heavy  loser  by  her  departure,  for  her  activities 
were  many.  Especially  may  be  mentioned  her  work 
as  an  uncompromising  foe  of  the  liquor-traffic,  her 
work  for  the  Wesley  Hospital  in  Chicago,  and  the 
Methodist  Deaconess  Orphanage  at  Lake  Bluff,  111. 

For  a  full  year  she  was  confined  to  a  sick-room, 
through  all  the  weary  months  of  pain  and  suffering 
making  a  brave  fight  against  the  enemy — valvular  heart 
disease — always  a  losing  battle,  but  always  a  cheerful 
one,  and  most  of  us  thus  shut  up  would  have  felt  ex- 
cused from  the  activities  which  had  been  so  much  at 
heart,  but  not  she. 

Our  hearts  go  out  in  sympathy  to  him  who  will 
nightly  return  from  his  toil  to  that  home  so  lovely — 
and  yet  oh,  so  lonely — because  she  who  was  its  light 
and  life  has  gone  to  return  no  more.  May  the  God  of 
all  comfort,  support  and  sustain  him  in  his  sore  be- 
reavement. 

Mrs.  York  was  a  good  woman;  those  who  knew 
her  best  loved  her  best ;  and  I  am  glad  to  be  permitted 
to  lay  my  little  leaf  of  laurel  on  the  brow  of  one  who 
was  worthy. 

— American  Bee  Journal,   November,  1907. 


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